


Short-Term Memory Loss

by helens78



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Consent Issues, Consent Issues Unrelated To Drinking, Consent Play, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-09
Updated: 2006-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viggo.  Orlando.  Drinking games, and a question about sexual fantasies that Viggo won't answer.  Does Orlando know what Viggo's favorite fantasy is, or is he pushing Viggo past the point of reason on purpose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short-Term Memory Loss

**Author's Note:**

> If the tags are giving you even a little bit of pause, please read the notes at the end.

The drinking games kids play these days are nothing like what Viggo remembers from the few times he got dragged out to play drinking games when he was their age.

"You don't have to answer anything," Dom says, giving him a mischievous grin that Viggo doesn't trust at all, "but any time you refuse to answer, you have a shot."

"Okay," Viggo says, one eyebrow up, "and when does it stop?"

"When you either hit the floor or you're too wasted to speak straight."

Viggo shrugs, Dom pours the shot, and three questions in, Viggo's drinking.

* * *

Things have been a little crazy since Sean left. Viggo's not consumed by someone at the moment, which is good, but he's getting a lot of looks, which is... odd. It's not bad, but it makes him wonder just how oblivious he got with Sean. _Did I miss all this, or did everybody back off while Sean was here?_

A late night out with Dom answers that for him; he finishes with his face buried in Dom's shoulder and his arm around Dom's waist, Dom's arms braced against brick in the alley outside their favorite pub, and Dom chuckles. "Glad I finally got my turn," he says, groaning as Viggo squeezes him even tighter. "Worth the wait."

Viggo goes a little red, but Dom can't see it.

* * *

After a while, everyone who's had an interest has made it clear, and while nothing's been quite like it was with Sean -- there's never been too much incentive from either side to have a repeat -- it's been fun and friendly and there haven't been any hard feelings.

Oddly enough, the only one who doesn't come to him for anything is Orlando.

Orlando flirts, but then he always did. When it was him and Sean and Viggo in the Cuntebago, there was a lot of raunchy talk that never went anywhere, a lot of banter between Orlando and Sean. Viggo ends up with a lap full of Orlando at times, and nothing ever comes of it.

Which is a shame, really, because Viggo imagines Orlando would be fantastic in bed.

* * *

Twenty questions again, this time at Orlando's house with six of them -- Viggo, Orlando, Dom, Billy, Elijah and Craig. Dom pours shots and grins at Viggo, and Orlando drops himself into Viggo's lap.

"Favorite sexual fantasy?" Dom asks, handing over the shot as Viggo reaches around Orlando for it. Viggo knocks it back and shakes his head at Dom.

"You knew that was coming," he says.

"Me next," Orlando says, bouncing, squirming in Viggo's lap like a puppy. Viggo shifts backwards on the couch, buries his hands in the cushions as the questions move on.

A game like this gets out of hand about three rounds in, Viggo finds out, when Billy asks Elijah who he'd rather get a blowjob from, Dom or him or Craig, and when Elijah says Craig because he's the only one he hasn't had already, Craig busts a gut laughing and dives for Elijah's pants.

Viggo's buzzed enough to put an arm around Orlando's waist when Orlando starts squirming, and even though Orlando gently but firmly moves his hand away when Viggo starts moving towards his cock, it's still pretty damned fun having the elf on his lap while Elijah's blowjob turns into Craig's two-way fuck with Dom on the other end.

After that, the night's pretty much over, and the other four groan and stumble, collectively, off to Orlando's spare room.

Viggo's still got his arm around Orlando's waist, and he's still breathing a little harder than he should be. Orlando squirms down on him.

"Hey." Viggo leans forward and nips Orlando's shoulder; Orlando jumps a little but otherwise doesn't move. "I can't get up with you there, y'know."

"You're pretty much wasted, mate," Orlando says. _Is he sounding breathless or am I imagining that?_ "Don't think I can let you drive home."

"I walked," Viggo says, but he cuts himself off when Orlando squirms down again. "Fuck. Stop that."

"You don't want to keep playing?" Orlando turns his head and looks over his shoulder. "What's your favorite sexual fantasy?" He lowers his voice. "Don't worry. I won't tell."

"Yeah, me neither." Viggo nods at the bottle, which is nearly empty anyway. "Gimme a shot."

"You're no fun."

"No, I'm not. C'mon. Need another shot after that."

Orlando turns around, wraps his arms around Viggo's neck. "I can take it," he says, squirming again, "whatever it is."

Viggo puts his hands on Orlando's hips and squeezes. "Didn't think you were interested," he says, _and you're sure as hell not interested in what you're asking about._ "C'mon, you're trashed, too. You want to screw around, we can do it some other time. When you're not gonna regret it in the morning."

"What is it, anybody but me?" Orlando asks. He dodges in, bites Viggo's lower lip. Viggo's fingers curl into Orlando's hips, squeeze harder. "You fucked Dom." He licks the spot he just bit, but pulls back before Viggo can try to kiss back. "I _watched_ you fuck Sean a few times." He turns his cheek to the side, puts his lips at Viggo's ear. "I know your fantasy," he whispers.

Viggo's heart leaps straight for his throat. _Dom_, he thinks, _Dom told, shit, fuck, Dom told_, but when he meets Orlando's eyes, he doesn't see anything that implies Orlando really knows what he's talking about. "Stop it." Viggo shoves Orlando back a good inch; not enough to fall off his lap, but enough it's going to be a danger now. "Quit teasing me and listen, all right? You want me, you come after me sober."

"I don't think _you'd_ do _me_ sober." Orlando leans in and bites at Viggo's lips again, and Viggo kisses him back this time, thrusts his tongue in and makes the kiss rough. Orlando seems startled, jerks on Viggo's lap for a second, but Viggo keeps going, doesn't let up even when Orlando makes a muffled noise and goes still.

"Like I said," Viggo pants, when he's done, "not tonight. Go on, get down."

"Come to bed with me." Orlando's eyes are dead serious with the counteroffer, and Viggo's cock is in no mood to have an argument with his brain. "Bed. C'mon. They're down the hall, nobody has to know -- you can get up and leave after if you want. _Please._"

"You're crazy," Viggo says, but he's thinking about it now; he glances over his shoulder towards Orlando's bedroom. "Okay. All right. Fuck. C'mon."

They stumble into Orlando's bedroom, and Orlando shuts the door behind them. He all but falls into the bed, his path there just a little wobbly, and Viggo follows him, slamming down on top of him.

He means to go easy, to be gentle, to take this slow -- first times deserve to be slow -- but all his body can think about is Orlando squirming on his lap all night, and before he can really figure out what he's doing, he's got those squirmy little arms pinned down and that squirmy little body pinned down with his weight, and he's kissing Orlando hard again, rough again, thrusting his cock against Orlando's while Orlando moans and struggles underneath him.

"Easy," Orlando says when Viggo lets him up for air, "c'mon, easy, okay, easy," but Viggo's mouth is back on his, and Viggo swears he's going easy, he fucking swears by it, but when he pulls away Orlando's staring up at him and looking almost scared.

_Dom_, Viggo thinks again, _goddamnit, did he tell you or not?_

"I don't--" Viggo starts. "This isn't--"

Orlando jerks one arm free. "Yeah," he says, "maybe you'd better--"

But one of Orlando's squirms rubs cock against cock _just right_, and with a moan and a feeling that he's going to regret this later, Viggo kisses Orlando again, grabbing for that free arm as he forces his tongue into Orlando's mouth and swallows down Orlando's increasingly frantic groans.

That arm's still loose, and when Viggo gives up and puts his hand down, Orlando responds with a hard punch -- a serious, hard punch -- to the side. Viggo rears back and stares down at him in shock, and Orlando turns his head, mouth open like he's going to call out. Viggo puts his hand on Orlando's mouth, still not the least bit sure what the hell game Orlando's playing. "What the _fuck_\--"

Orlando bites him. Viggo takes his hand away long enough to slap Orlando in return and then puts his hand back on Orlando's mouth. "Cut that out," he says. "What's the matter with you?"

He takes his hand away so Orlando can answer. Orlando's glaring at him now, and Viggo can't figure out where this went wrong. If it _is_ going wrong. If this isn't just Orlando taking something one step too far; if Dom didn't actually tell him... "Nothing," Orlando snaps, "just get off, all right?"

"What the hell are you playing at?" Viggo asks. He doesn't ask _what did I do?_; he's pretty sure whatever happened, it wasn't his fault. "You're the one who invited me here, remember?"

"Yeah," Orlando says slowly, "but we're done, okay? Back off."

Viggo pulls back, ends up kneeling at the foot of the bed. "What just happened?" he asks.

"What just happened is I'm tired and I'm going to be hung over in the morning and I want to sleep." Orlando pulls his shirt over his head and throws it off the side of the bed, and Viggo's vision flashes red for a second. It goes red again when Orlando strips off the rest of his clothes and dumps them, too, and pulls the covers back.

"You are either too wasted to have a clue what you're doing, or a pretty fucking professional cocktease, you know that?" Viggo asks. He stands up and shoves his fingers through his hair. "You don't fucking strip off in front of a guy you just turned down." And part of Orlando didn't turn him down at all, Viggo's realizing; part of Orlando still wants to get fucked. It's not like he could miss it, not with Orlando still stark naked and not bothering to cover himself up yet. "What are you playing at?" he asks again, because told to go or not, he's not sure what Orlando's after right now.

"I'm _not_," Orlando insists. "Get the fuck out of here, all right? This isn't going to work."

Viggo stares at him. One second stretches into two, into three, and he shakes his head. _No. Uh-uh. Mouth's saying one thing, body's saying something else. You go with the body every time._

He grabs Orlando by the arm, by the shoulder, and rolls him over, flattening himself on top of him and shoving Orlando's face into the pillow. Orlando screams, but it's too muffled for the sound to go anywhere. _Good._

"Shut the fuck up," Viggo breathes, pinning Orlando down with one forearm across his shoulders. Orlando gets his head far enough up to spit words at him -- _fucker_ and _bastard_ and all the usual things one hears in this situation -- but he doesn't hear anything that stops him from unbuttoning his jeans and getting his cock out, and spitting into his hand to slick himself up. He doesn't know where Orlando keeps the lube anyway, and doesn't figure he'd get much if he asked.

He sucks his fingers into his mouth, keeping Orlando pinned; it's like wrestling an eel, and there's something primitive and satisfying about doing it. When his fingers are slick enough, he shoves them between Orlando's legs, working them up Orlando's ass and grinning when Orlando goes still.

"Oh yeah," he breathes, "this is what you wanted the whole time, isn't it?"

"Fuck you," Orlando whispers.

He whispers it again when Viggo heaves himself up and gets his cock against Orlando's asshole; he grits it out through clenched teeth when Viggo forces himself in that first rough, painful inch. Viggo spits into his hand again, tries slicking his cock some more. It helps, but not enough; it's still one harsh inch gained at a time, while Orlando finally comes to life and starts thrashing under him and Viggo gives up on the spit-slicking and puts a hand over Orlando's mouth, whispering _hush, goddamnit_ as he pulls his hips back and thrusts forward, inch by painful inch until he's buried balls-deep and Orlando's shaking underneath him.

He bites Orlando's shoulder, then, licks over the bite and bites him again. Orlando lifts his head out of the pillow and takes a few gulping, gasping breaths. "_Please_," he whispers. "Viggo -- _please_..."

Viggo groans. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he should be sorry -- he knows he should _stop_ \-- but Orlando's ass feels so goddamned _good_, and it took so long to get here, and all those shots tonight -- he'll blame it on the booze and the tease, because he's not stopping now. The thrusts get easier now that he's been balls-deep; they're still harsh, the friction's still so tight it's painful, but Orlando's not fighting him the way he was on the way in. Viggo groans again and speeds up, ramming his cock into Orlando's body over and over and _fucking_ over, until he's burying his teeth in Orlando's shoulder to blunt the scream and he's coming hard, grunting like something that's not even human, seeing stars and biting down until he's nearly breaking skin.

He closes his eyes to catch his breath. Orlando's practically vibrating underneath him, and Viggo's eyes go wide.

_Shit. Fuck. Shit shit shit._

"I--"

He jerks back, pulling out too fast; Orlando yells into the pillow as Viggo stumbles to his feet and zips up. Orlando doesn't move; Viggo stumbles back a few feet to the door.

_Shit fuck shit shit shit--_

"I--"

He's got _nothing_. He's out the door before Orlando can turn himself over.

* * *

Viggo almost doesn't go in for his set call in the morning. He shows up because it'd be unprofessional not to, and he holds his breath when the door to his trailer opens and Orlando walks in.

"Hi, Vig, how are you?" he asks.

"Uh," Viggo responds, with as much coherence as he can muster.

"Sorry about last night." Orlando digs his thumbs into his belt loops and rocks back on his heels. "I was -- more than a little out of it."

"Er," Viggo tells him, which isn't much better than 'uh'.

"I don't really remember anything other than embarrasing the shite out of myself somehow," Orlando goes on, looking straight at Viggo as he says it, "so maybe we can make a deal that says whatever happened last night didn't actually happen, and then I don't need to know how I humiliated myself and we can all go on as mates, okay?"

"Ah," Viggo says, and finally he gets an actual _word_ out, albeit a slow and uncertain one. "Okay?"

"Okay," Orlando says, and just like that nothing's changed.

Nothing except for everything, and Viggo wonders just how much booze it takes to cause short-term memory loss.

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> Viggo's fantasy is being on the top side of a rape fantasy, and Orlando does know that before he gets started.


End file.
